


Things That Never Happened: Not Quite the Last

by wheel_pen



Series: Alice [42]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of Alice series. Clark and Alice aren’t quite the last survivors of Krypton, apparently. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Never Happened: Not Quite the Last

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Alice, my original female character, is new in Smallville. There is something special about her, and she and Clark form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. This series starts after the end of the second season—after the destruction of the spaceship and Clark abruptly leaving town.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This story may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

            Martha had been feeling edgy all day. She’d broken two dishes, dropped a full bowl of fruit salad all over the kitchen floor, and ruined half of Clark’s t-shirts by throwing them in with his whites and splashing bleach all over them. Fortunately they were just the older ones he wore doing chores, but still—she just hadn’t been able to focus on even the simplest tasks. And she couldn’t figure out _why_. She almost felt as if—as if she were being _watched_ , but every time she took a look around the yard, there was no one as far as she could see. _You’re going crazy in your old age, Martha,_ she told herself, but at the same time she knew this was Smallville post-meteor shower, and there could literally be anyone, or anything, lurking behind a tree or a bush.

            When Jonathan came in from his chores that day, he couldn’t help but notice his wife’s odd behavior... Martha screaming and jumping five feet in the air when he snuck up behind her for a kiss was pretty much a dead giveaway that she was skittish about _something_. “Oh, I don’t know, it’s nothing,” she insisted, when he questioned her about it. “It’s just that—“ And then she felt foolish and finished, “Oh, it’s nothing.” Jonathan just shook his head in that way that meant he was thinking, _Women_.

            Clark and Alice appeared after school, blithely loading up on snacks in the kitchen and joking light-heartedly with each other; they apparently hadn’t noticed anything unusual outside. Martha somehow couldn’t take comfort in this fact, however. The two teenagers started to head out to the loft to “do homework,” but Martha opened her mouth without thinking and said, “Why don’t you two stay in the house today?”

            Clark frowned at his mother, trying to discern the reason for this unusual request. “How come?” He really hoped this wasn’t a passive-aggressive attempt to keep him and Alice from, well, not exactly doing homework the _entire_ time they were out there.

            “Oh, never mind,” Martha contradicted herself suddenly. There was just something in the air, or something off-balance in her brain chemicals today, and she wasn’t going to insist Clark change his behavior without a good reason. Especially when he had that look in his eyes that was so much like Jonathan’s when he dug his heels in stubbornly. “Go ahead. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

            “Okay,” Clark replied, relieved but also somewhat confused.

            “Thanks, Mrs. Kent,” Alice told her politely. Martha felt rather than saw the look that passed between the two teenagers when she turned around, the one that said, _Old people._ In a blink they were gone.

            Darkness came early this late in autumn, and the reduced visibility just increased Martha’s unease. Dinner took twice as long to prepare because she kept forgetting things in the pantry or losing track of what she was doing, and every creak the house made as it settled into the night caused her to twitch. She was beginning to consider just calling for a pizza—unhealthy, but the teens would be delighted and she could stop wasting ingredients—when Jonathan entered the kitchen, pulling his work jacket on.

            “Where are you going?” Martha asked, more sharply than she’d meant.

            He gave her a curious look. “Out to the shed. I think I left some tools out earlier.”

            For some reason Martha didn’t want him to leave the house. “Oh, why don’t you just let those go until tomorrow morning?” she suggested, trying to sound casual. “It’s already dark out...”

            Jonathan looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he replied, “It’s only across the yard, Martha. Might as well do it now, before I forget.”

            “Um, dinner’s almost ready,” she countered brightly, lying through her teeth. Jonathan glanced around at the kitchen; unless they were having cereal for dinner, _nothing_ was ‘almost ready.’ “You can go to the shed after dinner.” That would give her time to think of more excuses.

            “It’ll only take ten minutes, Martha,” Jonathan told her. Seeing the expression on her face, as she scrambled to think of another reason to dissuade him, Jonathan took her arms gently and asked, “What’s wrong, sweetie? You’ve been jumpy all day long...”

            “Oh, it’s nothing,” Martha answered automatically, starting to turn away, but Jonathan wouldn’t let her.

            “Martha Clark Kent,” he said firmly, but also with a hint of amusement. “Just what is going on? And don’t try to tell me it’s nothing—you’ve been pacing around the house and jumping at every little sound, all the time I’ve been here.”

            “Well, Jonathan...” Martha tried to think of a way to phrase her concerns without sounding like an utter fool. Then she remembered she was _married_ to Jonathan, and if she sounded like an utter fool to him—well, it didn’t matter so much. “It’s silly,” she admitted, “but I can’t help it. All day long I’ve just had the feeling that we’re being... watched. By someone.”

            Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “Watched.” She could tell he didn’t believe her.

            “I know, I know,” Martha sighed, turning towards the sink to continue scrubbing at the carrots. “It’s crazy. I just can’t shake it, though. You know, I almost made Clark and Alice stay in the house when they got—“

            She stopped, staring out the window above the sink, and Jonathan asked with some concern, “Honey?”

            “Jonathan, there’s something out there,” Martha gasped, face white. She didn’t turn away from the window as her husband rushed to her side, peering through the gathering darkness. “I saw something moving, there, beyond the fenceline. I know I did.”

            Jonathan squinted, but saw nothing unusual—in fact he could see hardly anything at all. He didn’t want to make light of his wife’s intuition but... “Martha, are you sure your imagination isn’t just running away with you?” he suggested carefully, rubbing her arms. She leaned forward, straining to see as much out the window as possible. “Maybe you’ve been here by yourself for too long. Tomorrow we’ll go into town and have lunch at the diner—“

            “There!” Martha pointed. “There it is again. By the tractor. Do you see it?”

            Jonathan looked again, and this time—well, maybe he was finally catching whatever fever Martha had, because it looked like there _was_ something near the tractor at the edge of the yard. “I see... something,” he admitted cautiously. “Could be just a stray dog. Joe Hornsby was saying he heard coyotes outside his barn the other night...”

            “I don’t think it’s a stray dog or a coyote, Jonathan,” Martha told him ominously. Somehow, she just _knew_ it wasn’t.

            Jonathan started for the back door. “I’ll call Clark and Alice in,” he decided. “They’ll probably scare it away.”

            Martha’s eyes were focused on the shape beside the tractor. “No, no, wait, Jonathan!” she called suddenly, as he reached for the back door. “It’s a man!”

            Jonathan was back at her side in a moment. This time, the dark outline of a person was clearly visible beside the tractor, eyes glowing eerily in the reflected light from the house. He felt a muscle in his jaw tighten and told himself to stay calm. It could be—well, anyone, a neighbor, someone who needed help. Or it could be someone else. Whoever he was, he was trespassing, and Jonathan wasn’t going to hide in his own house out of fear.

            Martha didn’t notice her husband disappear from her side momentarily, until he returned from the living room with his shotgun. “Jonathan!” she exclaimed, finally tearing her gaze away from the window.

            “You stay in here and get ready to call the sheriff,” he told her firmly. “In case it’s someone who needs help.”

            He should have known from the look Martha gave him she was going to do no such thing, and she followed him tentatively out to the porch, holding the cordless phone in her hand. The tractor was off to the side, about halfway between the house and the barn, and when the Kents stepped out of the house the shadowy figure moved suddenly, perhaps turning around.

            “Hold it right where you are,” Jonathan ordered. He wasn’t _quite_ pointing the shotgun at the person—no telling who it might be—but he was ready to hoist it to his shoulder in an instant.

            He heard Martha’s sharp intake of breath behind him and she gasped, “To the right!”

            Jonathan turned and saw a second person, smaller, just visible crouching behind the fence on the other side of the driveway. He tried to split his attention between both figures, certain that they could be up to no good now. “I see you, too,” he told the second person. “Just come out slowly, both of you.” The shotgun was now definitely ready to be fired.

            Martha had been watching the opening to the loft and knew just when Clark and Alice realized something strange was going on. A moment later, the two of them were walking cautiously out into the yard, the intruders spotted immediately. Ordinary people wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of them, Martha knew, but that didn’t stop the spike of fear from going through her heart, her desire to yell at her son to get back inside. Besides which, the likelihood of these being ‘ordinary people’ was somewhat small.

            Clark was bearing down on the figure near the tractor, while Alice had the one behind the fence. Before Clark could reach his target, however, both he and Alice spun around quickly, hearing something that Jonathan and Martha couldn’t from behind the barn. Martha gripped her husband’s shoulder when she finally saw what the teenagers had detected earlier—more figures, definitely people, advancing on the house, from behind the barn _and_ from the other side of the lot. Perhaps two dozen people in all, converging on the yard with steady, rhythmic motion, far too reminiscent of the zombie movie Martha had caught a few minutes of on TV the night before.

            “Who are you, and what do you want?” Jonathan demanded, picking one dark figure to point his shotgun at. Clark and Alice waited, tense, trying to watch all the intruders at once.

            The person Martha had first spotted near the tractor stepped forward, into the light cast by the porch lamp. He _appeared_ normal at least, tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, 30ish if she had to guess. He was wearing some kind of neutral-colored jumpsuit with a dark jacket; there was an insignia on the collar, though Martha couldn’t make it out from this distance. Her first thought brought back the panic that she kept tightly under control: _military. Military scientists. Coming for Clark._

            “Who are you?” Jonathan repeated, turning the shotgun on the blond.

            The man gave them a look of cool disdain, oddly mixed with a small amount of confusion. “You are... Kent male, and Kent female,” he said after a moment, his tone disinterested. “Human.” And Jonathan knew nothing would surprise him again when he realized his first thought was, _Great. More aliens._ Martha decided calling 911 probably wouldn’t help them much.

            The man pivoted, turning his back towards them, apparently unconcerned with the shotgun pointed at him. The rest of the figures were still closing a circle slowly around Clark and Alice, and Martha knew Jonathan wanted to leave the porch and go down to them but she couldn’t let him—if the teenagers couldn’t handle themselves in this situation, Jonathan didn’t have a chance.

            “What do you want here?” Clark asked, in a deeper tone that made him sound far more grown-up and authoritative than Martha was comfortable with.

            The blond man walked slowly towards Clark, the other figures parting respectfully to let him through. From what little Martha could see of them, they were all tall and well-built and wearing similar uniform-like outfits; some of them appeared to be women, though most were men. The blond—perhaps the leader of this group—regarded Clark and Alice with a mixture of wonder and... amusement?

            “You are Kal-El,” he announced simply, with a slight smile. “I would know you by your eyes alone. They are your mother’s eyes.” As Clark—not to mention Martha and Jonathan—tried to scrape their jaws up off the ground, the blond turned to someone behind him and asked, “Don’t you think so, Lima-Zen?”

            An older man, fiftyish and barrel-chested, took a few steps forward and stared at Clark as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He coughed suddenly, or at least that’s what Martha assumed he did, until the blond man reminded him, “English, please.” Then the older man replied shakily, “Yes, yes, he is _so_ like Lara...”

            Martha could tell from the expression on her son’s face that he was thoroughly “freaked out,” as he would have put it. Alice, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes in a manner Martha had come to realize meant trouble for whomever was bothering her, and she stepped up beside Clark firmly. “What are you talking about?” she demanded, refusing to acknowledge any of the names the men had said.

            The blond quirked an eyebrow at her, glancing from her to Clark in a curious way. He exchanged a significant look with the older man he’d been talking to, then gave a slight bow, which was mimicked by the rest of the group. Alice looked at them all suspiciously but refused to be phased. “Zada-Li,” the blond man greeted.

            “What’s that?” Alice asked, confused.

            “You,” he clarified patiently. “You are Zada-Li, and you”—he indicated Clark—“are Kal-El. The youngest survivors of the Kryptonian race.”

            “The _youngest_?” Clark repeated, in shock. “I thought I was the _only_...”

            “ _I’m_ not an alien!” Alice protested at the same time.

            The man seemed surprised at Clark’s answer and replied, “You know of Krypton?”

            To Alice, the older man—Lima-Zen?—gently insisted, “You _are_ a Kryptonian, of a very noble house...”

            “I’m not an alien!”

            “But Jor-El said I was the ‘last son of Krypton’...”

            “You have a communication from Jor-El?”

            “How is it that Kal-El knows of his origins but Zada-Li does not?”

            “It _is_ her, isn’t it?”

            “Of course it’s her!”

            The various members of the group began chattering to each other, a few in English but most in what Martha presumed was their own language, which sounded like they were all in the midst of coughing fits. Jonathan gave Martha a look and stepped off the porch, firing the shotgun in the air. All the intruders ducked and covered their ears, howling in pain at the sudden noise. Jonathan didn’t seem the least bit sorry to have offended their super-hearing.

            “Now wait just one d—n minute.” Jonathan had obviously had enough of standing on the sidelines; frankly Martha was surprised he’d lasted that long. He held the shotgun at his side and stomped off the porch, right into the circle of strangers. “Just _who_ exactly are you people, and _what_ are you doing here?”

            The blond looked at Jonathan with the same tolerant disdain one might reserve for someone’s yapping dog.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all for Alice! I'll be posting a Smallville oneshot, then I'll be posting Vampire Diaries stories.


End file.
